


Repose

by AnnaofAza



Series: the sleep series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dreams, Hell, M/M, Nightmares, POV Dean Winchester, Safe for Booky, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2035893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean didn't understand why the angel unnerved him so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repose

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this a sequel to "Nightmares."

Dean didn't get why the angel unnerved him so much.  
  
He had come across many so-called creatures that were supposed to be myths—heck, he and Sam had run into pagan gods—but  _angels_? Angels were unbelievable, somehow. Angels were only present in Father Gregory's words, in his mother's words, and they were a presence larger than life, but completely absent of his own. Angels were connected to God, something—someone?—whom Dean never believed in, also.  
  
He actually thought, a little, that there might be something. There had to be. But Dean was never sure which way he'd go, himself.  
  
He was sure of that answer when he went to Hell, where every second was eternal torment, with Alastair slicing and dicing his flesh left and right and with the constant wailing that Dean could never really get out of his head. Sometimes, when Alastair was digging around in him, Dean would wonder _Do I deserve this? Did I really deserve this?_  And Alastair would carve him with his own rib, lifting his own guts and bits of broken bone out of his distended belly, and answer  _yes._  
  
In these nightmares, Dean would be tied down by the souls he tormented in Hell, being sliced every way he was taught and every way what he made up, with Alastair in his ear, hissing  _yes, yes, yes._ Sometimes he would be looking down at himself on the rack, taking up the knife in his hand, and being the one whispering the  _yes._  
  
Then there would be a light, and Dean would be sitting in a folding chair on a dock or lying on a towel on a beach or fixing up the Impala in Bobby's salvage yard. And Castiel would be standing beside him, arms folded.  
  
"You have to stop this, Dean."  
  
Sometimes, the nightmares continued. But most of the time, they faded into obscurity and into something quiet and tranquil. Castiel sometimes showed up, and when he did, they always talked. Once, it was at the park where he first shared something secret with Dean, and while they sat at one of the picnic tables and watched the kids playing, Dean thought that Castiel didn't have to tell him that, that maybe Castiel was trying to win him over to the angel's side by opening up, that maybe Castiel was being genuine and sharing something dangerous.  
  
Castiel would listen to Dean. Mostly, he talked of nonsensical things, of his favorite pies and his first solo hunt and how he used to want to be a rock star when he grew up. He was sure Castiel knew everything, but he kept talking, talking about anything other than his nightmares. His memories. He had been asked enough about them back in the real world. 

Dean thought someone was actually  _hearing_ him, for once, and it was some angel with a trenchcoat and a stick up his ass and created pleasant dreams for him when it was clear that these were  _not_ part of his heavenly orders. 

Sometimes, Dean would show Castiel how to fish, how to play guitar, how to fix the Impala, how to build sandcastles.

Sometimes, they would simply fall into silence.  
  
Sometimes, Castiel would touch his hand.  
  
Sometimes, Dean would wonder how it would all be if Castiel hadn't been the angel who pulled him from Hell, then mentally shook his head, because he just couldn't picture it. 

Because maybe, just maybe, he did have faith in angels.


End file.
